


His Answer

by Eternal_Garbage_of_a_Spotless_Mind



Series: The Random Disconnected DA Creativity Galore [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Not Beta Read, mortification of the flesh, self - flaggelation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-22 16:47:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6087202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eternal_Garbage_of_a_Spotless_Mind/pseuds/Eternal_Garbage_of_a_Spotless_Mind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kirkwall shadows are long and dark and Cullen is not sure he can ever truly be free. When the unsuspecting Inquisitor Adaar sees something she should not, the Commander tries to explain but she may understand his motivations better then Cullen himself.</p><p>(A pairing is tagged but it is <i>very</i> light and not the main focus of the one - shot at all)</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Answer

A stack of reports in her hand, the Inquisitor descended down the stairs in search of the Commander. He was not in the small Chantry and he was not in his study either. The battlements were out of the question - the winters in Skyhold were so harsh, Cullen had to re-arrange the guard rotations so that the Inquisition's soldier would not get a frostbite. She saw a lonely scout making his way across the - now deserted - courtyard, his steps creaking in the fresh snow that had gotten knee deep since yesterday.

"Jim!" she called out, her stab in the dark regarding the identity of the scout paying off, as a scrawny youth lifted his head, pulling the hood away from his eyes to see better. As the tall figure of their Inquisitor had emerged from behind the curtain of snow, Jim straightened his back.

"Your Worship!"

"At ease, scout," the woman said softly. Despite being called the Herald of Andraste and earning the title of the Inquisitor, she was well aware that most of the Inquisition still erred on the side of caution when it came to direct interaction. She guessed being a head taller and having horns had something to do with it. The difference between Qunari and the Vashoth was too fine for some to grasp. "I am looking for the Commander. Might you know where he -"

"Have you been in his study? The Chantry? The battlements?" Jim was so eager to please, it did not cross his mind that he had interrupted the Inquisitor mid - sentence. When Adaar shook her head, Jim pursed his lips thoughtfully for a moment. "I would try the smithy, my lady. He trains there sometimes, when it is too cold to be outside. Commander does not like to be disturbed, though."

She thanked the kid, watching him speed up towards Herald's Rest. The last week had been harsh on everyone - heavy snowfalls blocked the passage to Skyhold, stranding several traders both in the fortress and at the base of the mountains. The low temperatures took care of any outside activities, confining soldiers, mages and templars to their designated quarters. The tropical creatures Dorian and Iron Bull were feeling rather miserable, draped in several layers of fur to keep them warm and even Adaar, who ranged from Free Marches, had to confess this was unpleasant.

As she entered the smithy, the heat hit her in the face with the strength of a well - aimed maul. The blacksmith and his apprentices were working hard, giving the Inquisitor but a curt nod of recognition as they returned to work. Adaar quickly unbuttoned her coat and tossed it on a nearby bench as she scanned the surroundings in search of the Commander, fingers clutched tightly around the folder with the reports. Amongst the pounding noise of hammers her ears caught a high - strung singing of the sword coming from upstairs. Adaar followed the sound and, as she walked up the stairs, bending slightly to avoid hitting the low ceiling with her head, she spotted the Commander. He was shirtless, skin glistening from sweat and chest heaving, fingers curled firmly around the pommel of his longsword. A fine human specimen, and she has seen quite a few of them. Unfortunately, very early on, the man had made it clear he was not looking for a relationship of any kind.

"Commander," she called out to him, watching in amusement how Cullen's back straightened up, his fingers almost letting the sword go. "You are difficult to find."

"In - Inquisitor," he stammered and looked over his shoulder, going pale at the frightful speed. "Forgive me, I am not decent -"

"Relax, Commander. Having pants on is decent enough for me," she chuckled and tapped lightly on the leather of the folder. "Leliana asked me to deliver you these reports."

"Inquisitor running errands for her own advisors," he muttered, carefully sheathing his sword back into the gilded scabbard at his hip. The motion was extremely gentle, almost loving. "Sister Nightingale forgets herself sometimes."

As he turned around to face her, the shimmering light of the many candles slid across his back, revealing a net of scars and bruises, both old and new. Adaar had successfully held back a gasp but the widened eyes had betrayed her, she saw it reflecting in an uncomfortable grimace on his face.

"This is why I -," he sighed and rubbed his temples carefully. "This is not the conversation I wanted to have, Inquisitor. With you _or_ anyone."

"You don't have to - "

"Your whole posture says otherwise," Cullen answered calmly, pulling an undershirt over his head and tucking it in his pants. "To clear the air, to set _your_ mind at ease," he donned the leather shirt and a surcoat on, fingers running through messy curls, trying to bring them to a semblance of order. "Please, follow me, Inquisitor."

***

They were silent for a while as Cullen paced up and down his study, both doors locked to prevent the unwanted visitors. Adaar was perched on top of a sturdy armchair, following his every movement. The air felt heavier as the crease between the Commander's brow grew deeper.

"What have you heard about the Kirkwall Circle?" he asked finally, a hint of desperation in his voice.

"Not much good, I afraid." she shook her head, watching the man closely. Cullen was visibly uncomfortable. It seems what she saw had been something private, something that under normal circumstances, no-one should have known. The Commander leaned heavily on his desk and sighed, pushing himself upwards again.

"Knight - Commander Meredith was a harsh leader," he started slowly, eyes darting all over the room unable to look at Adaar. "She believed in discipline, in the power of reflection upon own undoings. Her methods were... frowned upon but not discouraged, for they have proven to be _effective_."

When Adaar said nothing Cullen resumed his pacing, the memories flooding his mind, making the old twitches and ticks manifest themselves once more. The Inquisitor felt guilty. She had never seen the Commander like this and it pained her to be the reason for his current state of discomfort.

"A templar that had made a mistake - and there were _always_ mistakes to be made - was expected to reflect upon their undoings and atone for them," he stopped before a large trunk in the corner of the room and lifted the lid up, fishing something out with his right hand and turning towards the Inquisitor. "With _this._ "

Adaar's gaze slid down his outstretched arm and focused on the object in his hand. Cullen's fingers were firmly clutched around a whip. Cat o'nine tails to be precise. The leather looked dark and worn from use, each tail having a row of small knots along its length. She suspected it the moment she saw his scars - they were anything _but_ battle inflicted. On the way to his study Adaar came up and almost immediately dismissed the notion of the Commander being into rough play. The Inquisitor considered herself a good judge of character and somehow the man in front of her did not strike as a practicing type.

"Mortification of the flesh." she said as calm as she could, hoping the voice and the face did not betray how she realy felt. Qunari practiced self - flagellation often and with ease, just another out of the _many_ reasons why her parents had abandoned the Qun. You did not deal with your problems. You would either beat them out of yourself or resort to re - education when pain stopped giving you clarity and purpose you so longed for.

"A mage given an undesired attention. An impure thought. An order misinterpreted or botched," Cullen's voice seeped into her consciousness. " _This_ is what Kirkwall templar had to do. What _I_ had to do," he paused, eyes dark on a pale face. "What I am still - Still doing."

Adaar stood up then and came closer, her palm on man's shoulder. The tallest human in Skyhold seemed so lost and fragile now, the top of his head reaching just below her chin. She saw him wincing at her invading his private space but when Adaar apologized and wanted to step away, his free hand had suddenly clasped her fingers.

"Cullen," Adaar did not even realise she called him by his first name. It had always been 'Commander'. "You are not in Kirkwall and you are not a templar any longer. That life had stayed behind."

Her fingers curled around the base of the whip and she heard the leather creak as his hand clutched it a little bit tighter.

"I wonder if it did, Inquisitor." Cullen answered flatly and shrugged his shoulders, turning his face away from Adaar, who now stood in front of him. "I try... I try _so_ hard not to be that person anymore. The narrow-minded fool with no pity to spare for anyone but himself. But more often then not I _still_ \- " he growled in frustration as the cattail whip lashed through the air, hitting his thigh and making Cullen hiss.

Adaar cocked her head thoughtfully, worrying her bottom lip. She had observed this behaviour many times before, often amongst the fugitives from the Qun and, most recently, in the Iron Bull after the events at Adamant. The Qun had no place for fear, you were born a Qunari and you died a Qunari. No faltering. No _questioning._ It seemed the Knight - Commander of the Kirkwall Circle had been of a similar mindset, her goal was to make a pack of perfect hounds on a very short leash to bark orders at. The result, however, left nothing but a group of broken people behind, both mages _and_ templars. 

"Did you ever share it with anyone?"

Cullen shook his head bitterly, lips nothing but a thin line.

"No one really cared. I was told to 'believe in the Maker', to 'bask in His grace', to accept that what had happened in the T-," Cullen stopped abruptly, realizing he had ventured into the uncharted territory of personal pains and secrets. "That certain _events_ in my life were nothing but 'His will'. In the end I stopped trying to reach out and the alternative I had been introduced to in Kirkwall... I had long since accepted it as... sufficient."

The longer he talked, the more confused his expression became. As if the words pouring out of his mouth made Cullen slowly realise what had _really_ been going on within his own head all this time.

"I can listen," Adaar said simply and his gaze flickered back to her face, uncertainty in his golden eyes. "All I am asking is that you put down the whip."

"This is very kind of you, Inqui - Tahmyria," she blinked in surprise as her name rolled off his tongue. Just like her, he had always used Adaar's title in their conversations. "But I am not sure that after all this time I can simply -"

"Start small," she offered, lips curled up in a soft smile. "In fact, you already did. We've been sitting here for a good hour, if not more, and you have been doing _awful_ lots of talking."

Her attempt to cheer him up did hit the spot as she saw the corners of Cullen's mouth twitch upwards ever so slightly. He stood in front of her and Adaar could swear he looked as if at least a bit of the invisible weight had lifted off his shoulders. 

Cullen's fingers absentmindedly trailed along the tails of the whip, stopping at every familiar knot. For more then a decade this had been his only confidant. Its help had been harsh but it chased the demons away, albeit temporarily. 

The Inquisitor outstretched her arm, palm up. An unspoken question in those peculiar violet eyes of hers and, without a single word, Cullen dropped the whip in her hands, stepping away.

This was his answer.

**Author's Note:**

> This idea had sprouted from me talking with SilentSlayer about Cullen beating himself up for being an idiot, figuratively. And then my mind had wandered off thinking that the AU Meredith would be just the kind of woman to impose such treatment upon her own templars. No good can come of that.


End file.
